e-time. I am very happy to die for you. But tamper with the property
of my successor I cannot and will not. I am sorry," he added.

"Sorry!" echoed Zuleika. "Yes, and you were 'sorry' you couldn't dine
with me to-night. But any little niggling scruple is more to you than I
am. What old maids men are!" And viciously with her fan she struck one
of the cloister pillars.

Her outburst was lost on the Duke. At her taunt about his not dining
with her, he had stood still, clapping one hand to his brow. The events
of the early evening swept back to him--his speech, its unforeseen and
horrible reception. He saw again the preternaturally solemn face of
Oover, and the flushed faces of the rest. He had thought, as he pointed
down to the abyss over which he stood, these fellows would recoil,
and pull themselves together. They had recoiled, and pulled themselves
together, only in the manner of athletes about to spring. He was
responsible for them. His own life was his to lose: others he must
not squander. Besides, he had reckoned to die alone, unique; aloft and
apart... "There is something--something I had forgotten," he said to
Zuleika, "something that will be a great shock to you"; and he gave her
an outline of what had passed at the Junta.

"And you are sure they really MEANT it?" she asked in a voice that
trembled.

"I fear so. But they were over-excited. They will recant their folly. I
shall force them to."

"They are not children. You yourself have just been calling them 'men.'
Why should they obey you?"

She turned at sound of a footstep, and saw a young man approaching. He
wore a coat like the Duke's, and in his hand he dangled a handkerchief.
He bowed awkwardly, and, holding out the handkerchief, said to her "I
beg your pardon, but I think you dropped this. I have just picked it
up."

Zuleika looked at the handkerchief, which was obviously a man's, and
smilingly shook her head.

"I don't think you know The MacQuern," said the Duke, with sulky grace.
"This," he said to the intruder, "is Miss Dobson."

"And is it really true," asked Zuleika, retaining The MacQuern's hand,
"that you want to die for me?"

Well, the Scots are a self-seeking and a resolute, but a shy, race;
swift to act, when swiftness is needed, but seldom knowing quite what to
say. The MacQuern, with native reluctance to give something for nothing,
had determined to have the pleasure of knowing the young lady for whom
he was to lay down his life; an